


The fear and not the ghost

by awildpanicattackappeared



Series: strung up in green and gold [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Ron Weasley, Disaster Bi Harry Potter, F/F, F/M, Genderbending, Healer Draco Malfoy, Heavy Angst, Kinda, Like so much angst, Mentions of Mental Illness, Other, Slow Burn, Slow To Update, Trans Draco Malfoy, Unspeakable Hermione Granger, harriet potter is a dumbass who is trying her best, its only for draco and harry tho, poc harry and hermione, shes our trans queen, the author is depressed and it shows lmao, this is my first published fic so sorry if it sucks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:28:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23677669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awildpanicattackappeared/pseuds/awildpanicattackappeared
Summary: It began, as most important things do, on a Tuesday morning.(Aka despite being the girl who lived twice Harry Potter is very bad when it comes to taking care of herself and is throwing herself into her work, Hermione and Ron are fed up, and a chance encounter with the newly dubbed Draco Malfoy leads to a reluctant and somewhat aggressive friendship)
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley mentioned
Series: strung up in green and gold [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2150112
Comments: 5
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> welcome everyone!!! This is my first ever published fic so i'm sorry if it sucks. the title was taken from the song not the ghost by the crane wives, you should give it a listen when you get the chance. i've been into drarry and harry potter in general for a long time and as someone who prefers wlw ships i thought why not combine the two? 
> 
> Some trigger warnings! mentions of depression and lack of self care

It began, as most important things do, on a Tuesday morning. 

That particular Tuesday morning was unusual in that for the first time since the Battle of Hogwarts, Harriet Lily Potter was not mentioned on any of the main pages of the Daily Prophet. She had fallen asleep at her desk, a frequent pastime of hers, and wouldn’t know of this personal victory until later. This, while seemingly monumental for Harriet, was not the beginning.

This Tuesday morning was unusual for Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger as well, their erratic schedules had finally settled into a rare moment of harmony. The two sat at the kitchen table talking and enjoying each other’s company. This too, was not the beginning.

The beginning on this unusual Tuesday morning could be found in Draco Malfoy’s living room. She stared at the Daily Prophet sitting on her coffee table with apprehension. While Draco knew the Prophet loved to drag her through the mud (Merlin knows she deserved at least a part of it) she felt sick to her stomach at their newest attempt.

The title stared back at her, the black ink dancing off the page, mocking her. 

**Ex-Death Eater Altas Malfoy Underwent Experimental Magical Operation To Become A Woman? Experts say it could be linked to some sort of plot.**

A year. She’d made it _a full year_ since her surgery and legal name change without the Prophet getting hold of it. Nothing good can last, Draco knew this very well, but for once she had begun to let herself think otherwise. As it always had, life swept something good from under her feet and left her to fall. She pointed her wand at the offending copy of The Prophet and vanished it.

She needed a drink.

* * *

Waking up was like swimming through honey for Harry that morning. Slowly she danced closer to consciousness as the sounds of a Ministry work day starting. Shoes clacking, papers rustling, and the distant buzz of conversation. Perhaps what woke her was the hungry ache in her stomach, the painful way her glasses dug into her face, or the faint prickling in her arm that she was using as a pillow. 

Whatever it was, Harry had managed to wake up before her shift had started. She let out an almost relieved sigh when she checked the time with a quick _Tempus._ She had just barely enough time to run back to Grimmauld Place, shower, and find something she could eat for breakfast. Sometimes she felt she only really used her house as a place to shower and invite Ron and Hermione over when they complained about how she never did anything other than work. 

It wasn’t early enough for her to get some food at the cafe inside of the Ministry, they didn’t open for another half hour. With a tired sigh she pushed her chair back from her desk and gathered her things. 

She hated walking through the Ministry when it was practically empty. It brought back memories when she did, it made her feel like a ghost. Although she often felt like a ghost, or like she was wearing a stranger's skin. She always tightens her grip on her wand without noticing her doing so. Her footsteps echoed through the tall and empty halls as she walked to the apparition point. 

She really needed to sleep in her own bed for once, if only to avoid the quiet and unsettling morning walks. At the very least it would get Hermione off her back. As she reached the apparition point she let herself twist into the familiar yet never comfortable feeling of apparating. 

Number Twelve Grimmauld Place’s dull grey walls greeted her. She throws her Auror robes in the vague direction of her bed at shuffles towards her bathroom. 

She takes a hot shower, wishing she could stay in long but knowing she needs to go get dressed. Harry leans against the wall of the shower, the spray still hitting her back numbly. Time to start the day.

She turns off the shower. 

* * *

Harry refused to admit she was fond of Roger, the eldery wizard who often ate with her in the mornings at the cafe inside the Ministry. He was in the Magical Maintenance department and despite how much he complained about it, Harry was pretty sure he actually enjoyed his job. 

“Well if it isn’t The Girl Who Lived Twice, come to bless a poor old soul with her presence, hm?” Roger didn’t look up from his copy of the Daily Prophet as he greeted her. Harry rolled her eyes and sat on the other side of the booth. 

“Good morning Old-timer, I see you managed not to croak last night.” She replied, her stomach growling at the sight of her omelette and toast. She began to dig in, pointedly looking at her plate. Roger hummed. 

“See the Prophet this morning?” Not pausing for Harry to respond he continued, “Of course not. Wel- is your plate more interesting to look at than I am?”

“Well, at least my food doesn’t have more forehead than face” Roger chuckled lightly at that. It was a running gag between them, every morning Harry would try to come up with new ways to look like she was ignoring Roger, wait to be called out, and then insult him in some new way. She doesn’t really know how it came to be, because she can’t remember anytime before it was a part of her mornings. 

“That’s by far the least creative one yet. Unless, oh no, you’re running out of material?” She shook her head at that, trying to conceal the grin spreading on her face. The Prophet was an untidy pile of paper next to Roger. He noticed Harry eyeing it and raised an eyebrow at her. He scoffed. 

“Congrats.” At her confused look he said, “You’re not the star of the show for once, kid.” Roger stole a piece of toast from her plate as he talked. She had an internal debate between celebrating that she wasn’t on the front page for the first time in what felt like forever and yelling at Roger for _stealing her toast._ He decided for her when he tried to steal another piece of toast. She caught his arm mid-steal and glared at him.

“Anyone ever tell you it’s rude to steal other people's toast, Pops?” Harry let go of his arm when he dropped the toast back onto her plate, her mostly-mild irritation clear in her voice. 

He shook his head at her with some degree of amusement and took a sip from his cup of tea. A comfortable silence fell over them, broken only by Roger sipping his tea and Harry eating the remains of her toast. Best to eat it all to prevent him from another attempt at thievery. She tried not to glance at the newspaper, still crumpled between the two of them. Clearly she didn’t try hard enough because Roger glanced at the newspaper and caught her eyes with a raised eyebrow.

“That Malfoy kid was the one they’re yelling about today.” He said. It was Harry’s turn to raise an eyebrow.

“Atlas? Why is he in the paper?” 

“Actually...It’s Draco now.” 

The look Harry gave Roger was one of pure disbelief and confusion. She snatched the paper from the table and tried to find the front page. Sure enough, the front cover was a picture of someone who looked like the female version of Malfoy wearing healer robes while rushing through the halls of St. Mungo’s. 

**Ex-Death Eater Altas Malfoy changes name to Draco and Underwent Experimental Magical Operation To Become A Woman? Experts say it could be linked to some sort of plot.**

_Draco Malfoy, formerly known as Atlas Malfoy was recently seen…_

Roger sat quietly as Harry read through the entire article, eating his own food (for once). Apparently said “Magical Operation” happened about a year ago and was kept greatly under-wraps by Malfoy...herself and the Healers in charge. The author of the article, some bloke named Stanley Stevens, had a vague idea of what was going on with Malfoy but was unable to get any solid proof of it. 

It was almost sickening to read the descriptions of how far Stanley went just to, what, share some details about someone’s personal life? Harry was familiar with Stanley, he had written more than one headliner about Harry’s personal life. Two of the articles lead to breakups with her ex-boyfriends. At least Stanley hadn’t managed to expose and end her relationship with Ginny before they decided that they were better off as friends.

Harry still disliked Malfoy, woman or man Malfoy was still a stuck-up git. Having been on the receiving end of Stanley’s invasive writings before, she did feel slightly sympathetic. Which was a thought towards Malfoy that was extremely foreign. Merlin. She actually felt a little bad for Malfoy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome back y'all!! i know not a lot of people have read this but those that left kudos and subscribed, thank you so much! this chapter isn't quite into the drarry part yet but don't worry it's coming soon ;)
> 
> enjoy!

Sometimes Draco wished she could go back to the summer she turned eleven. She was still Altas then, and was starting to feel wildly uncomfortable in her own body, but despite that it was one of the most carefree and happy times in her life. The excitement of getting ready to go to Hogwarts, of being sorted into her house (which would most definitely be Slytherin thank-you-very-much) , of making new friends, and of course meeting the famous and elusive Harriet Potter.

She didn’t know the words she repeated to muggles and muggle-borns were laced with hate. She learned later of course, but by that time it felt too familiar to leave behind. Her father’s hands were blood-soaked before she was able to walk. Still Draco was happy in her little privileged bubble. Anything she wanted was handed to her, as long as she kept her mouth shut.

No questions about why she felt spikes of anxiousness and despair whenever some called her ‘young man’ or ‘boy’ came to her mind. Any sign of flaws were hidden behind the immaculate and vast walls of the Malfoy manor. Maybe she wasn’t all that happy then after all, but if she was she didn’t know.

Her shift at St. Mungo’s started in less than ten minutes, yet Draco was sitting on her couch reminiscing and regretting with a glass of firewhisky almost empty in her grasp. Pansy was bound to come hunt her down any second, she was a stickler for punctuality. Draco normally arrives at least an hour before she's actually supposed to be there, a fact that Pansy was _very well_ aware of.

To put in plainly Draco was doomed in every sense of the word. Pansy, while most definitely understanding as to why Draco was holed up in her flat, was equally if not _more_ unsympathetic towards Draco’s endeavor.

Sure enough, mere seconds later, her fireplace burst into life. Pansy emerged from the flames with the same air of confidence as a hunter finally catching its prey. Despite her supposed-to-be-comforting mind-healer robes, she looked murderous. Pansy rolled up the sleeves of her robes before crossing to stand directly opposite where Draco was slouched on the couch with her arms crossed angrily.

She eyed the large almost-empty wine glass in Draco’s hand.  
“Let me guess, elderflower wine?” Her voice sounded venomous. _Oh Merlin,_ Draco was beyond screwed. She decided to play it cool, something she had learned to do over the many years spent with her father.

Draco gave as much amount of detached grandiose as she could muster in her current state.  
“Firewhisky.” She replied. Pansy’s eyebrows shot up. Her show would have been enough to fool many people, but not someone who knew her as well as Pansy.

“In a wine glass? My-my Draco, you’re taking this worse than I thought.” Draco gave a vague hand gesture she hoped conveyed something similar to ‘go away’. If Draco had succeeded at communicating what she wanted, Pansy gave no indication of it. Instead she sighed and sat down next to Draco.

Draco tried not to show her surprise at this action on her face, numbly letting Pansy take the wine glass from her hand and setting it on the coffee table. Pansy leaned back on the couch, a somewhat saddened look on her face.

They sat like that, side by side, in silence for what felt like years. Pansy kept glancing at Draco, clearly trying to say something without having to use words. Both of them were bad with emotions but they were both even worse when it came to putting emotions into words.

The old grandfather clock in her living room rang out seven times. It had been a Christmas present from her mother a few years back, right before they both left the Malfoy Manor behind for good.  
“You’re late for work.” Pansy said. She sat up slightly and reached out to grab Draco’s hand in hers with a small squeeze. A way of saying _It’ll be alright._ Draco squeezed back and closed her eyes. _Will it?_ She thought to herself.  
“I know.”

* * *

  
The world seemed determined to force Harry through her sleep deprivation problem. Running on barely two hours of sleep wasn’t ideal for her, even less so when she and Ron have an active day of field work. Chasing after a perp felt more taxing when she had to fight to keep her eyes open seconds before. Despite the odds being stacked against her she managed to stay mostly awake for the entire day, excluding the nap she took during her lunch break instead of eating. Ron offered help by talking when it looked like she was nodding off.

(“You heard about the new Chudley Cannons keeper?”, “ ‘mione and I are thinking about moving to a new place.”, “Who robs a pet store? Of all the places, a pet store!”)

They had managed to apparate back to the ministry before four-thirty with three new cases to write up, four to close, and one to pass over to the improper use of magic office. Of all the days Harry could have used a slow day, the universe gave her one of the busiest in her career. _Seems about right._

Ron closed the last of his files for the day and sighed.

“Finally...freedom!” He stretched his arms over his head and leaned back in his chair. Harry balled up an abandoned note card and chucked it at him. She ignored the “Oi!” from Ron as the paper hit him.

“Nah mate, the paperwork will always have you trapped,” she said, trying to catch the paper as Ron threw it back at her. She missed.

“Harriet Potter, the youngest Hogwarts seeker in a century everybody.” Ron looked like he was trying not to laugh as he spoke, louder than normal and in a poorly done American accent. She scoffed at him. Their desks, while side by side, were practically on top of each other, with only a half a foot between the ends of them at most. Picking up the paper, she aimed for his head and tossed it.

“Come off it, I haven’t played a proper game in years. And seeking has nothing to do with this.” The paper landed on his desk.

“...I meant for it to go there.” She didn’t sound convincing, even to herself.

Ron didn’t respond, just tossed the paper back at her. It managed to hit her right in the middle of her forehead.

“ _I_ meant for it to go there,” he said, sounding incredibly proud. She huffed in annoyance. Ron was a keeper, that has more to do with hand eye coordination then being seeker. She knew of course arguing was moot point, seeing as Ron was probably already aware of this and just trying to lighten the mood. Whether or not it worked was up for debate. Harry was definitely distracted from her intense want to pass out, even if only for a couple of seconds.

She still had one more report to finish, and just a glimpse at the paper already had her yawning. She leaned back in her chair and stretched her arms above her head, in a very similar fashion to what Ron had done minutes earlier.

“Why isn’t there a spell to have paperwork do itself?” she asked.

Ron chuckled slightly. “We could ask ‘mione to invent one, she’d enjoy the challenge.” There was a pause. It was Harry who said what they were both thinking.

“...or she’d call us lazy.” Ron hummed in agreement.

Ron glanced at the paper on Harry’s before meeting her gaze. She knew what was coming. Ron had tried to bring up the “problem” all day but said nothing when Harry would quickly change topics. He had opted not to push, probably knowing it wouldn’t help matters. She figured it would come up sooner or later.

“I know you slept at your desk again.” He said it with a tired sigh, like he knew this wasn’t the last time he would have to have this conversation. “Roger told me,” he tacked on as an afterthought and _goddamnit Roger._ She can’t make up some other stupid excuse for how tired she was if Rodger confirmed she was here. She really needs to stop admitting things to him before she has coffee.

“Please don’t,” she said quietly. _It feels like I'm living someone else’s life._ They were both sitting up straight now. Ron either didn’t hear or ignored her protests. Despite how joking and cheerful he had been seconds earlier, he looked as tired as she felt.

“You’ve been avoiding this all day Harry. I can’t just...not bring it up.” Ron wheeled his chair closer to her. There weren’t many other Aurors at their desks that were near them, but even so his voice was low and soft. He knew she hated things like this. Harry looked away from him and crossed her arms over her chest defensively.

“This is the fifth time in two weeks. We nee-”

“I really don’t want to talk about it, Ron.” She was more awake then she’s been all day now. A flame was unfolding in her chest, and all she could do was sit and hope the embers would simmer and die.

“Hermione is really worried for you, mate. _I’m_ really worried.” He leaned forward now, coming even closer and Harry was burning. Her nails were digging into her inner arm. The sharp pain was grounding.

“I know and I’m sorry, but _I’m fine._ Really I am.” _Liar._ The smoke and flames leaked through into her voice, and she knew he heard it. That edge, the mixture of anger and dejectedness and weariness she tried so hard to keep inside her. They stared into each other’s eyes and Harry knew he could tell she was lying. Ron muttered under his breath and rolled his chair back to his desk. She knew the day would come when he (or Hermione for that matter) would refuse to drop this. The day she would spill her guts. The day they would stare at their mess of a best friend and wonder why they even bothered to try.

“Thanks.” she practically whispered to Ron. Thank Merlin that day was not today. He tilted his head in a form of acknowledgement as he waved his wand across his desk, sending his stack of papers to their respective files.

She kept her eyes on him, waiting for him to turn back to face her and say something else. He didn’t, just packed up his things for the day and was clearly getting ready to leave. Harry couldn’t quite place why that hurt. She turned back to her report, ignoring the shame pooling in her chest. She didn’t look up as Ron began to walk past her.

“Do you want to join me for dinner?” Harry nearly jumped, she had certainly not been expecting that. Ron wasn’t really the type to just gloss over her angry outbursts and move on. If anything, he was prone to getting angry right along with her.

“I-...what?” He had stopped almost directly behind her chair and she had to twist all the way around to face him. Ron seemed to have anticipated her confusion because before she had even responded he said, “Hermione isn’t gonna be home till tomorrow, and if she finds out I let you get away with barley eating all day she’d kill me. I was thinkin’ that one Ethiopian place?”

“You hate Ethiopian food, every time you eat it you complain about how spicy it is.”

“Yeah I know.” The unsaid _‘but you love it’_ hung in the air between them.

“...Alright,” her eyes fell back onto the file still waiting to be filled on her desk, “ and what about my paperwork?” Ron was swaying back and forth on the balls of his feet now, like some kind of ginger, freckled, rocking chair. “It’ll still be there after you’ve slept a proper amount and actually eaten something.”

She grabbed her bag and haphazardly shoved her things into it. “You’re starting to sound like Hermione.” she said as she did so.

“It's the curse of being in a happy marriage, you slowly morph into one being. Pretty soon you’ll have one best friend with two bodies.” Harry snorted as the two of them headed towards where it was safe to apparate.

“A true tragedy.”

(Even though Ron insisted he could handle the food this time, he spent a solid two minutes coughing after the first bite. Harry forgot how exhausted she was during those same two minutes, unable to help because she was laughing so hard her stomach hurt.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me? returning to project onto Draco Malfoy? more likely then you think
> 
> I was going to make this chapter super long but I kept having to rework things and then would refuse to post it cause it wasn't long enough, but its been months and I have caved 
> 
> content warnings!!!  
> mentions of shit mental health  
> misgendering and deadnaming  
> transphobia in general honesty  
> lowkey detailed depiction of injury and violence

Day drinking wasn’t a habit of Draco's, _per se_ , it was more for when she felt she could no longer make it through the day without snapping someone's neck or banging her head against a wall. It just so happens that she feels like that quite often and therefore, needs her self-prescribed treatment. When she showed up to work the day after “the incident” (as she had taken to calling it) she made sure she had her flask hidden in her pocket. 

As tempting as it was to wither under the stares of her coworkers, she held her head high as she made her way to her office. She was tempted to just pull out her flask right there and let the familiar warmth of vodka take away her discomfort, but she managed to force herself to wait until she was alone. Now that everyone knew of her “different” status, she didn’t need to give anyone another reason to try and get her fired.

There had been a grand total of one person at St. Mungos who had known her story prior to yesterday, excluding herself and Pansy. The witch who was her boss, the reason she became a healer in the first place, and who let her get away with a ridiculous amount of bullshit to keep her situation underwraps, Evie Sharp. 

Evie was the most terrifying woman she had ever met. Short in both stature and temper, she held a fire in her eyes that could melt the arctic and enough ice in her veins to freeze over hell. She also just so happened to be the Head Healer in St. Mungos. 

Draco wasn’t two steps into her office before Evie pounced on her. “Malfoy, what on earth are you doing here?” She practically tore the door off its hinges with her vigor. Draco, flask halfway to her mouth, paused. 

She opted not to try and hide the flask. “My job, of course.” She replied. Evie scowled at her, her glare moving from Draco’s face to the flask and back again. There was a quiet thump as a new patient file magically landed on her desk and she gestured to it. A way of saying, _see, work_. 

Instead of acknowledging her, Evie walked over and plucked the flask out of Draco’s hands. She let out a sound of protest but was once again ignored. 

“Go home,” she said, her voice forceful. She took a sip from the flask and grimaced, muttering under her breath about cheap vodka. Draco’s hand darted out to reclaim her flask but was met with air as her boss jumped back. 

“I’m confiscating this, by the way.” Evie added, and with a quick flick of her wand it was gone. 

“That was mine.” 

“Yes it was. Now go home. You’re taking the day off.”

“I took yesterday off.” 

When Draco was young, her mother would put her to bed with a reminder. It never changed from night to night, always a whispered bit of advice into her ear. It was a survival tactic, a habit, a coping mechanism. Maybe it was all three. It stuck with her, whatever it was. She would lose her mind if she had to spend another day throwing a pity party. She’d take any work she could get her hands on at this point, any source of normalcy she could steal. If she could feel closed her eyes she could feel her mother’s cold breath against her ear, _distract, distract, distract._

Evie said with a callous glare, “Well then, lucky you.” Her words left little room for argument. 

_I would hardly call my current situation lucky,_ Draco wanted to tell her, but knew it would get her nowhere. The problem was, she had nothing else to say. So instead of responding Draco let a silence fall between them. It was a silence full of dirty looks and glowers between the two of them, both trying to get the other to back down. 

It was a losing battle, Draco knew it was. “Shouldn’t you want me to be at work? Seeing as you’re my supervisor and all.” There was another thump as more files landed on her desk.

Evie let out a deep sigh. “I should, shouldn’t I?” The fondness in her eyes was overwhelming, and Draco knew she would lose. She was told to go home again, it was gentle and understanding and soft. It was all the things that didn't belong to people like her.

She nodded.

Evie led her back to the staff exits with a firm hand placed on her shoulder. She had to push back against the bubbling urge to cry and lean into Evie’s touch. The ebbing panic at the prospect of being alone with her thoughts was worse than the anticipation of arriving at her job had been that morning. 

Either Draco’s breakdown was a lot less internal than she thought, or Evie was really good at reading her, because Evie's grip on her shoulder tightened reassuringly. She wasn’t sure which was worse. 

Before she left she turned back to Evie and asked for her flask back. She was trying to joke, but it was forced and they both could tell. 

“No.” Evie shoved a handful of Floo powder into her hand and walked away. Draco stared after her for a second and stepped into the fireplace. She couldn’t tell if the sensation of breathlessness was from the Floo. 

If she was already crying by the time she landed in her living room, no one was there to know.

—

Draco Malfoy was a coward, but that night she was a drunk coward. It made all the difference.

—

Sleep used to come easily to her. Harry could remember how many times she had gratefully sunk into a bed and fell asleep once her head hit the pillow. Even when she was forced to sleep on the hard ground, or in her cramped cupboard, she could close her eyes and drift off quickly. 

Recently however, her relationship with sleep (if you could even call it that) became more fickle. If she kept having sleepless nights she would have to find a potion master to brew up something for her, or at the very least Hermione. 

Harry had set herself up for failure by going to bed a handful of hours early the previous night, because now she couldn't sleep tonight. She felt buzzed with energy despite herself. While her exhaustion from yesterday was gone, she knew she couldn't just not sleep. 

She made a promise to herself to work on her sleep schedule when she and Ron parted ways after dinner the other night. She didn’t want to cause him, or Hermione, or anyone really, any more unnecessary worry. It was easier said than done, though. 

_Can't fix my sleep schedule,_ she thought bitterly, _if I can't actually sleep._

She reached to grab her wand, her glasses off the nightstand. She left them there and waved her wand lazily to check the time. It was hard to read without her glasses on, the number already smuggy in the dark without the help of the lense flairs and blur that came from her poor eyesight, but she managed to make out the faintly glowing numbers.

_**3:37 a.m.** _

Harry groaned, her arms falling back to the mattress with a soft thump. 

"Fuck," she whispered, her words hung heavy in the air. Her bedroom did not respond. Glancing at the time again, she came to a decision. Mentally berating herself and apologizing to her loved ones, she swung the sheets off of her and moved to stand. 

_Tomorrow,_ she promised, _tomorrow I'll fix it._

She was setting herself up for disappointment and she knew it. It's how it always goes. Still, until tomorrow night comes, she can keep pretending.

(Harriet was a liar, always has been. Sometimes she worries that she'll forget what the truth even is. Sometimes she wonders if she ever knew it in the first place.)

—

The blood seeping in between her fingers registered in her brain numbly, but it took her back hitting the marble floor for her nerves to start singing. Suddenly everything ached. The warm pools of blood trailing down her stomach, the bruises sure to bloom across her back from her fall, the sharp pain where her skin had been cut open. Where it still was.

_Her breaths came in panicked gasps, with a mix something closer to an agony filled sob. Was the screaming coming from her or Myrtle?_

"You’re a healer, aren't you _Altas?_ " His voice was a mess of garbled noise and echos, but his words were somehow clear. She didn’t respond, just continued her painful crying quietly. He shoved her wand back into her hand.

_Atlas Malfoy had died on the bathroom floor. Even after Professor Snape had stitched skin back together. After Madame Pomfrey poured countless healing spells into making sure he would not die, he did. Atlas Malfoy died on the bathroom floor. It was a nameless, worthless, other, Malfoy that was saved. The nameless Malfoy heir left the hospital wing with a weird sense of calm. If she would die, she would die having admitted the truth. Even if only to herself._

She couldn't focus, couldn't see his face, couldn't think of any of the healing spells she knows. He left, door swinging shut with a click. 

(His footsteps sounded like Potter's. Draco was wearing her Slytherin uniform. Why hadn't Snape come to save her yet?)

She was forced to save herself.

—

Ron disliked St. Mungo’s for a number of reasons. The bad memories, firstly; followed by the way Harry always seemed to deflate when they had to visit it for a case. There were a handful of others as well, (the smell, the food, the wallpaper choice) but they were more easily dismissed.

He and Harry sat in one of the waiting rooms. Every time someone walked by Ron sat up straighter, trying to look more Auror-like, in case they were the staff member they were waiting on. 

In the seat next to him, Harry stared at the wall and absent-mindedly fiddled with her hair. "How in bloody hell can you sit like that?" For good measure Ron gestured at her legs. 

Harry, with one leg thrown over the armrest, the other folded beneath her and half slumped over, looked appalled. "I could say the same to you!" She sat up slightly more as she spoke but made no move to change anything else. 

Ron rolled his eyes. "Honestly mate, there is no way that's comfortable." She flipped him off with a huff, but had no real heat behind it.

"Just because yo-!" Harry started, but cut herself off when the Welcome Witch cleared her throat loudly and glared at them. 

Ron had to fight off a grin. The Welcome Witch, now satisfied they were done, turned back to her desk. 

"This isn't a library," Harry whispered angrily, "so what's her problem?" The grin won out and Ron turned his head to whisper back,

"I think we're her problem." Harry chuckled at that, then immediately shaped her hands over her mouth to silence it. 

As she did she waved her wand towards the witch and said a spell under her breath, clearly fighting not to laugh while doing so.

"Muffliato?" he asked.

"Of course."

Ron let out a breathy laugh. Another healer walked by and he straightened up again, but they kept walking. He could feel Harry looking at him and knew she had judgmental laughter in her gaze. He turned back to look at her and was just about to comment 'How long could it possibly take to get one healer' when another staff member walked by. This time though, they headed straight for Ron and Harry. 

The woman was short, her lime green robes seeming just slightly too large on her. "Sorry for the wait, I wanted to do this myself." She said as she continued to speed walk towards them. Coming to an abrupt halt a foot or two away, she shoved her hand out towards them. 

"Evie Sharp, Head Healer." When neither Harry nor Ron moved to shake her hand, she pulled it back. "Right," she said more to herself then to them, "let's get this going." Then Sharp spun on her heel, robes and hair fanning out behind her and matched off. 

Ron and Harry shared a glance before they both quickly stood up and followed after her. If Ron hadn't been hurrying after her, he would have smirked at Harry trying to disentangle herself from the chair. 

"Um, Sharp was it?" Ron started, jogging slightly to catch up. For someone so short she was surprisingly quick; even with his ridiculously long legs he had a hard time keeping up. She turned to look at him slightly and bobbed her head. Was that supposed to be a yes? Ron wasn't sure. 

He hesitated. _It had to be a yes, right?_ "Right so-" She turned suddenly and now he was desperately dodging staff. Sharp was either weaving easily through the crowded and narrow hall or they were moving out of her way. Ron was not given such treatment. He nearly knocked over a wizard carrying a tray with a fizzy looking potion on it. 

"Can we talk about the case itself first?" Harry asked loudly, still a little ways behind both Ron and the healer. (Harry, he noted, had much better luck at dodging the workers.) Sharp stopped. She kept her back to them, but Ron could see her pinch the bridge of her nose. She looked exhausted and upset, tension hanging heavy on her shoulders.

She turned back to them then, and sighed, "Yes, yes of course."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for reading, any comments and kudos are appreciated!!!!
> 
> imma try to update sooner but god has cursed me for my hubris and my work is often left unfinished for long periods of time until I remember it
> 
> until then, stay safe folks!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I plan to update as soon as I can.
> 
> Also I just want to say that while I myself am non-binary I can't understand completely what trans woman go through I am trying my best with what I know and people have told me so sorry if my writing isn't accurate to your experiences, just know no matter your gender you are valid!


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